The Whole Truth
by PortiaKhalo
Summary: It may take Emmett's whole mouth for Rose to see the ugly truth. Can their back-to-back cooking shows bring them together?
1. Chapter 1

The Whole Truth

A/N: Welcome to my silly world of Emmett and Rose a la Foodnetwork! Miss Yellowglue and Mz. Aleighy helped me through this, and will, hopefully, guide me until the end of this tale. It was a joy to contribute the first three chapters of this story for the FADV compilation.

~~~Em~~~

"Do you think it will fit?"

"Yeah?"

"Because you know things could get messy if it doesn't."

"I think I might need a bib."

"Bella! I need a bib stat!"

*Wild Cheering*

"And there you have it folks. One proscuttio-stuffed portobello mushroom down the chute in one bite. Dang, I love this job."

~~~~R~~~~

"This is how many dishes are dirtied to make one batch of traditional belgian waffles."

"Yeah, the whipped egg whites do make them fluffy, but the ugly truth is that I'd rather eat an Eggo than have to clean this much after breakfast."

"Do you think we can solve the problem? Make this atrocity into something delicious?"

"I think Edward needs to come out and do the dishes first."

*Laughter*

"Edward! Put on your apron, SweetCheeks, the people need clean dishes!"

"So while he does that, I'm going to mix up a simple, whole-wheat batter that can be used for pancakes or waffles, show you how to infuse a syrup, and do it all with half the dishes."

~~~Em~~~

I get home that night and am famished, as usual. You'd think prepping stuffed mushrooms in every possible stage of development, and then eating half a dozen for the audience would fill me, but it never does.

There are no leftovers. I always leave them for the crew. Especially poor Bella, bless her. She's like that chick from "Tool Time" that Pam Anderson played, except she actually went through culinary school.

She packed the rest of the shrooms up to take home for her and her Dad, and I raced home just in time to plop on the couch and catch the end of Rosie's show.

"_Edward! Put your apron on, SweetCheeks, the people need clean dishes!"_

I hate that guy. His eyebrows are so annoying, and I can never figure out if he and Rose have a thing going or not.

The truth is that she scares the shit out of me.

~~~~R~~~~

Rose goes home to a refrigerator stuffed full of fancy, feminine, finger foods. She is so, so glad that she spent the weekend folding tiny sheets of phyllo dough just so, because the thought of having to eat one more heavy, whole wheat waffle for dinner makes her body feel grossly green.

She hangs up her apron. It's her transition from work to home. Her Mama always told her that real cooks have dirty behinds.

Going up the stairs and into her bedroom, she changes into satin jammies. They're the kind her Grandmother always wore, silky and collared, with fabric covered buttons that shine like polished stones down her front. They feel like heaven.

Reaching into her cabinets for her favorite plate, her wine glass, and some silverware, she sets a proper place setting for herself. Then, and only then, does she sit and eat her single serving of baklava, with a fluffy spinach torte to compliment it.

The TV has been left on all day for Maizy, her Boston terrier, and she can hear that stupid brute, who's show airs in counterpoint to hers, shouting for a bib across the house.

"_Bella! I need a bib, stat!"_

"_His sidekick is not nearly as good as my Edward."_, she thinks, cramming the rest of her dinner into her mouth in one bite.


	2. Chapter 2

~~~Em~~~

"So today on Whole Mouth Foods, we're making Monster Cookies!"

"I know, I'm excited too. Just don't eat to many of them in one sitting folks, or you'll have to call a plumber. You know what I mean?"

*Stifled laughter*

"Basically, we're going to use every single baking ingredient we know and love, and add some cayenne pepper to give the cookies a kick. Then we're baking them at 375 until they golden brown around the edges and chewy on the inside."

*Applause*

"Let's be democratic about this, shall we? I'll hold up an ingredient, and your claps, or lack there if, will tell me whether to add it or not, alright?"

*Bald guy in the back row, with the funny eye yells, "Yeah, Man!" The crowd chuckles.*

"Milk chocolate?"

*Whoops from the crowd*

"You got it!"

"Raisins?"

*Booing with sporadic clapping*

"Oh, ho ho. No love for the raisins today! How about dried cranberries instead?"

*Cheers*

"In they go."

"Oats, coconut, white chocolate, peanut butter, and red hots?"

*Laughter and loud cheering*

"I know, I know, I got impatient. Let's just dump it all in so we can get them into the oven."

"You know what? These suckers are so gigantic I don't think I have enough cookie sheets to plop them on. Should we ask Bella, nicely, to bring some more out for us?"

*Audience chants Bella's name*

"Bella! Oh Bella? The people say we need more cookie sheets. Can you bring out, like, half a dozen more, pretty please?"

"I have fantastic eyelashes don't I?"

*Ladies and a few men in the seats whistle*

All this batting practice does nothing to sway fair Bella though."

_~~~Em~~~_

I'm sitting in my dressing room, wiping stray chocolate from all the hidden places it spewed when I turned on the mixer, when my in-room phone rings. It's our new head of production for the channel, Eric.

"Hi, Eric. What can I do for you today?"

He's like a yippy Chihuahua, always so over excited that I have to hold the phone six inches from my ear to keep from going deaf.

"Things are well, Sir Emmett!" I roll my eyes.

"I was just wondering how the Monster Cookies went over. Did you have a bunch of Cookie Monsters on your hands?" He laughs at his own joke while I pick at the flour caked under my nail-beds. I really don't like this guy. He gives me the creeps in a smarmy clown kind of way.

"What can I do for you, Eric?" I ask again, as politely as I can manage. My head already hurts from the intensity of my eye rolling in the last four minutes.

"Well, I was just giving you a heads up that I'm going to be trying out a few new tactics to improve ratings. Nothing drastic, mind you." He laughs lightly, and I shoot an imaginary gun into my head.

~~~R~~~

"Hello? Who? Oh, Hi Eric. What can I do for you?"

The man on the phone is the most annoying soul Rose has ever encountered, and that's saying a lot. He's like cotton candy; fluffy and sweet, and when he talks to you he leaves you all covered in his sappy mess.

In his overly dramatic, valley-girl-turned-upside-down voice, he tells her to be prepared for a few changes in her show's line up.

Rose is not pleased. Everything that happens when the camera hits her stage has to be approved through her and he knows it. He's new and, apparently, throwing his weight around.

"That's fine." She says to him.

"_He can warn me of an upcoming alteration in my plans, but I can throw today's completely out of whack in his honor", _she thinks, her mind truthful and full of revenge already.

As soon as he shuts up she calls in her team and fills them in both on what Eric says will be happening soon, and what changes need to be made for the day's taping.

For today's episode, a giant image of a jersey cow will hover behind Rose on the flat screen she uses for visuals. It will also be sticking out its tongue. Lingua tacos are her featured item du jour.

She's like a deranged Orbits lady, cleaning up Eric's dirty mouth, but not with gum. No, She'll clean his dirty mouth like the butcher cleaned that smart ass cow's mouth. She's going to cut his tongue off, at least figuratively, and change his plans unannounced.

When the lights hit her face, she smiles cheekily, adding an imaginary _"ding"_ to her blindingly white smile.

"Good Morning, Class!" She says playfully as the camera begins to roll.

Her audience is good to her and replies with a sleazy, "Good Morning, Miss Hale", without any guidance.

"Today, we going to make something immensely ugly and repulsive into something so delicious I even eat it for breakfast on occasion."

Her crew plasters the giant cow image on the television screen and the audience roars with laughter.

"The Ugly Truth is that tongue's can be tantalizing." Rose licks her lips straight into the camera.

"We're making Lingua tacos, my dears." She smirks at her fabulous team, and Edward brings out a heaping platter of cow tongue to a standing ovation from the audience.


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~Em~~~~

I'm being lazy at home on a Saturday. It's the one day per week that I'm not either shooting episodes of the show, or proofing recipes and scripts.

Ramen at 9:00 AM is really underrated. As the first truly hot food I've had at home all week, I'm slurping that crap up, with my giant cup of black coffee to wash it down. I may have to stick my head in the freezer after I'm done giving myself this "man facial", but it's totally worth it. My parents will be able to go out to eat this weekend with the large chunk of my pay check I sent home to them.

My frugal grocery supplies stretch the joy that my Mom can indulge in over the next couple of days, and it makes my sodium heavy breakfast like Heaven in my mouth.

The feeling of comfort that comes with the visual image of my Mom all dressed up is cut short when I remember Eric the Doofwad's phone call. Although nothing about my show's line up changed during the four days following his dumb jokes, I can feel something coming.

Suddenly, I'm sweating buckets. The combination of too much hot food and inherent rage are making me boil and I run to the fridge before I erupt ramen noodles like a volcano. Although I'm pretty sure they'd come out my nose, not the top of my head. A ramen tsunami then. The middle compartment of my freezer cocoons my giant melon as I try to gather my thoughts.

It became painfully apparent, when I was about 15, that my parents were struggling financially. Without much apprehension, I did what I had to do. Seven Eleven was hiring, and I worked there all the way through high school. I made manager, and put in over-time until I could both help my parents out with money, and attend culinary school.

I knew once I started school I wouldn't have that monthly cash cushion to give them, but I promised them I'd work my ass off. I was like that scrawny guy from "Ratatouille", without the rat. My niece, Alice, picked it out for me when she found out I was going to become a chef. Hours and hours were spent practicing in my kitchen, and my Mom's back home, so that my big hands could properly perform the dainty culinary deeds required for me to graduate.

And now I'm here. Whole Mouth Foods has been a steady draw for the network since they hired me, and I don't have to worry about my parents anymore.

Eric better not fuck that up.

~~~R~~~

Rose has an uncharacteristic day off on Saturday as well, but she's meticulously creating beauty in her kitchen.

Every piece of French culinary equipment, plus a couple of Asian ones, and a knock off from Giada De Laurentis's line, lay strewn about her kitchen. Even her mess holds a pretty pattern though. She's unconsciously followed the colors of the rainbow, and from afar, her counters repeat "Roy G. Biv" over and over, and over again.

She's cooking for the entire week, so that more of her precious time can be devoted to the studio and her cookbook coming out soon.

She secretly hates it that Rachael Ray already marketed the concept of spending one day cooking for your entire week, because she's got it down pat.

It's that morsel of memory that sets her mind rolling on what Eric called about, and she's fuming immediately. Not many people have grasped the complexity of her food experience, but Eric would have _at least_ been made aware of her degree and when she was hired.

Rose left a world of forced perfection, overflowing with rigid dietary documentation and demonization when she abandoned her pre-destined path. Although she's beholden to the network for aiding her search for who she truly may be, she's also struggling every day. Each morning is a too bright reminder that her family and first love refused to accept her as she was: clever, curvy, ambitious. Royce King, who's ring on her finger had felt like a constant, aching burn, had all but starved Rose of authenticity.

She battles her ghosts, habitually, to throw off the bogus cloak she lived in through the years in a girl's life that decide her image, and decipher what her original purpose on this planet might be.

Rose pauses her inner monologue to be present with herself in this moment. She runs her hands, consciously, over the curves of her hips and pinches the nugget of delicious flesh there.

There are giant ginger-blueberry muffins cooling on her counter, and just for the hell of it, she slips one from its tin cavern and cuts the top off.

_I'm only eating tops tonight, _she says to herself, devouring what hangs over and doesn't quite fit in.

It was her work as a free lance food writer that first caught Mike's, the man Eric replaced, attention, along with her waist length blond hair and refusal to conform to the Barbie doll prison she'd grown up in. She was a delicious conundrum, with the quirky ability to make even the ugliest sustenance into something delectable and camera ready.

Her cookbook that was coming out in the fall was already breaking pre-sale records for the company. She was sure she wasn't being let go any time soon. She was also sure that "Just Tops" were being added to the volume's line up.

It had taken her until just a couple of months ago to accept food in ways that were healthful and whole. When she'd broken free of Royce's cage she was just bones, and she binged.

She binged out of spite and revenge, and then to make up for lost time, and then because she realized she had no clue how to eat a normal meal.

That was just around the time that the Network found her, and the daily schedule of taping and refining her work helped during the day, but the nights were still a horrific, sticky battle between her and her carb loaded pantry.

Rose pats her legs and Maizy runs to her, snarfing her little nose and covering her face in dog slobber.

"Thank you, Maizy-girl." She says, and squeezes the sweet dog until she squeaks.

"Let's go for a walk, yeah?" Maizy jumps and wiggles and Rose smiles. In walking she can walk away all over again, and not return until her slow, paced steps have tapped a tunnel of light through her anxiety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TBC ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I do have the rest of this story outlined, with an email for the next three chapters headed to Aleighy and Yellowglue in just a minute. I hope to improve my track record on finishing what I've started 3.


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